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I can’t say the same for myself. My body feels pliant as if it’s soaking in all the attention Étienne directs my way. As I move closer, he stretches his long legs. “Are you good, Étienne?” “I’m fine.” “Are you sure?” What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing? my mind hisses.
The Surviving Trace (Surviving Time, #1)
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